Yes, and find the kitchen

Deciding that it would be foolish to continue your plundering without checking the other room first, you quietly pad your way forward, trusting your shoes to find firm purchase on the smooth tiles, and make your way to the door leading to the other, locked room.

A quick assessment of the door doesn't reveal anything of interest - it's just a plain wooden door, albeit sturdy oak, with a simple brass handle - but a gentle poke with the tip of your spear nudges it open, swinging easily on silent, well-oiled hinges. Inside, you can make out some items dangling from the ceiling, what looks like a kiln in the corner, and maybe the edge of a table in the centre - so this was probably the kitchen.

You step through quietly, seeing that it was, as you guessed, the kitchen. What you thought was a table was actually a counter and a coal stove, along with various other counters - all scattered with vegetables and meat - everything was cold however, the ovens dormant, and cooked and uncooked meat having been abandoned when the owners fled the house.

You turn on your heel to face the door, and spot a figure in the darkness. As you watch, it lifts a sack from the floor, quietly depositing it to the side, with a not very well restrained sense of urgency. It's clearing the blockage you encountered trying to open that door in the first place, and has finished doing so, from what you could see.

"Shit," a feminine voice curses quietly as the door wedges on the plant pot you'd rolled in front before you came in. "shit, shit shitshitshit."

The figure turns, and freezes as it sees you, backing against the door as though she could simply will herself through the solid oak and away from you.

"Stay right there," you caution, shuffling to the left, setting your shield down briefly and, after confirming that she hadn't moved, glanced round behind you, now-free shield arm wrenching open the window and filling the room with blinding sunlight.

Just as well, because you hear a scampering of feet and a grunt, something metallic sailing inches past your helmet and clattering against the wall behind you. You turn, waving your spear towards the girl as she rushes forward. She skids to a stop and backs away hurriedly, eyes wide and fearful now that she'd tried to knock you out and failed - probably because the sudden brightness threw off her aim.

She continued to back away as you pursued slowly, spear now gripped with both hands and pointed directly at her. You drive her back pace by pace until she hits the door again and flattens herself against it, closing her eyes as she waits for the cold metal to pierce her chest.

It doesn't, though. You stop just as it reaches her, point brushing her white shirt gently as she opens her eyes and breathes a heavy sigh of relief as she realises that she isn't going to die. The relief in her eyes dies as she catches sight of you, still laden in your armour and now with a spear hovering between her breasts, and her gaze grows wary.

Now that she's not hidden in the shadow or moving much, you can finally get a good look at her. Brown hair falls just beyond her shoulders, and hazelnut eyes stare out from her pleasant, slightly freckled face. Her plump breasts are pushed forward each time she breaths, hidden only by a cotton white button shirt, black knee-length skirt hiding her nethers from you. A pair of smooth legs extend out from under them, clearly well-shaved for her owners, while her feet were clad in a pair of brown slip-ons.

"What's your name?" you ask flatly, eyes boring into hers, daring her to try throw something at you again.

"F... Fiona," she stammers, dropping her gaze to the spear and drawing her arms in, as though to get away from the menacing point. "What are you going to do with me?"